Harris (Alpha One Security #1)

By: Jasinda Wilder



He had the radio on blasting Led Zeppelin, the hood part of the airplane engine open, twisting a wrench by feel, his cheek resting against the side of the cowl, eyes unfocused. The muscles in his back rippled as he worked the wrench, and I took a second standing in the doorway just to watch him and stare at him. I let myself work up a nice burning yearn for him.

He’d come back from a mission just yesterday, late. He’d still had enough energy to have a quickie with me, but then he’d crashed, leaving me…unfulfilled. He’d been gone for two weeks, which meant I hadn’t had cock in two weeks, hadn’t had an O I hadn’t given myself in two weeks. That’s an eternity by my standards, especially now that I’m used to getting it from my man on the regular. And by “regular” I mean pretty much every day he’s home, and often twice a day. The man is a stallion, I’m telling you. Extreme stamina, and even more extreme sex drive. Which is good, because mine is off the charts.

So yeah, it didn’t take much to work myself up. All I had to do was watch him work, watch his muscles flex and ripple, think about his mouth on my pussy, my hands on his long, thick cock…

Fuck yeah—I got all drippy just thinking about his cock.

“Ahem.” I actually said the word, didn’t just clear my throat. Only he had the music too loud, so I had to try again, louder. “AHEM.”

He glanced at me distractedly, and then went back to turning the wrench. And then he did a double take, like a cartoon character. Pretty sure his jaw actually hit the ground and his eyes turned to big red pulsing hearts.

“Jesus, Layla.” He slowly withdrew his arm from the engine cowl, his hand black with grease, holding a huge wrench. “What the hell is this?”

“I found your armory.” I hauled the M4 off my shoulder and let the barrel grip slap into my open palm.

“Obviously. I was wondering how long it would take you.” He pointed at the weapon in my hands. “That’s not loaded is it?”

“Did you or did you not personally teach me to use firearms?”

“I did.”

“Then do you really think I’d come out here like this with a loaded machine gun?”

“Assault rifle,” he corrected. “Just making sure,” he added.

He took a step toward me, his jade-green eyes blazing. He was prowling, that slow, sleek, predatory way he had, like a puma stalking through the grass. I held my ground, letting him come to me. His gaze raked over me, top to bottom, twice. And then fixed on my tits, visible in glimpses through the brass of the shells. Down to my core, also just barely but not quite covered by the bandoliers. And then to the M4 in my hands.

“That’s the one from the wall, right?” he stated more than asked.

I nodded. “Yep. Figured it only counted as fulfilling your fantasy if I was carrying your special assault rifle.” I emphasized the correct term.

“My fantasy?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember? São Paulo? The car chase? You told me you had a fantasy involving me in nothing but a bandolier, with your M4.” I swept a hand at myself in a Vanna White style gesture. “Well, here it is, me, naked, in a bandolier of bullets, holding your own very special M4.”

Nick hands flexed, tightened, released. Now he was within arm’s reach, but he still hadn’t touched me. He was just staring at me, as if memorizing the sight of me like this. Cold as I was, I let him look. This was about fulfilling a fantasy, after all.

He must have noticed me shivering. “Cold?”

I shrugged. “A little. It is April, and I am outside naked.” I let my desire burn in my eyes. “Can you warm me up?”

“I might be able to.” He reached past me and pushed a button on the wall beside the open doorway, and a motor hummed quietly, sliding the twenty-foot tall doors closed. When the doors were shut, lights flickered on automatically, bright LEDs suspended from industrial hanging fixtures.

He moved back a step. “Go sit on the wing of the plane.”

I did as he asked, propping my ass against the cold metal of the lower wing, rearranging the bandoliers for optimal visual affect. Instead of coming closer, though, he stayed where he was, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and took several photos of me from various angles. Fine by me; I knew he was the only one who would ever see them, so let him have photographic evidence.

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